mom voice
image description: a collage of a planner section with the words “work” in amorphous pink ovals in the right corner; below that, a a hand of a child’s fingers on the edge of a small notebook with a red ribbon bookmark; in the center, the back of a child and mother walking a few feet apart on a city sidewalk with a tree in the background and people dining outside to the left; on the right, a closeup of someone’s arm hand writing music with pencil, inside a piano, with a light pink snakeskin-printed shirt with light yellow-green lettuce edging and a brown sweater sleeve over it; at the botton, another planner page with the words “work” in black ink highlighted with brown marker and underlined with salmon ink
I’ve done my best to make the audio as gloriously shrill as possible ;)
I recently saw an open call for a residency that looks amazing, with beautiful facilities and a stipend. Two-week residencies were available, but only for college professors and former residents. I wondered if they’d consider offering two weeks for parent artists, considering our responsibilities for, you know, caring for another human. I mean, if they’d offer it to college professors who have access to university resources, such as space and equipment, why not parents?
So I wrote to them asking if they’d consider two-week residencies for parents, and that to be clear, I was not asking to bring family, and said that it is just hard to get away for too long.
Well. They must not have been able to hear over my “Mom Voice”—oh wait, this was a WRITTEN EMAIL, so I mean, somehow not able to read the words I actually wrote (perhaps the word “parent” triggered some weird reflex) and responded with a lengthy email about why they could not accommodate families.
I said out loud to myself, “Fucking idiots. That’s not what I asked.” So I wrote back again, clickety-clacking* loudly on my laptop:
Hi,
As I mentioned in my email, I'm not trying to bring any family. I personally do not like bringing my family to residencies. I tour without my family all the time. I'm asking about just *considering* having two-week options in the future for parents.
Hope that's clearer for you.
And again! They wrote back a lengthy email, about an inch and a half of vertical text on my laptop screen, about how they are unable to host families. JFC! IS IT NOT POSSIBLE TO READ PROPERLY OVER MY “MOM WORDS?”
And finally, that was followed by a short email, perhaps after a more careful reading of my original three-sentence email, saying nope, no two-week residencies for artist parents in the near future.
//
Performing Test Site 5: Seedlings at Marble House Art Seed, 2019, next to a 30-foot drawing I made. Pretty sure this pic is by Melanie Greene. Image description below.
I started going to residencies in 2017, when I’d set out on my path as a generative artist after having been solely a pianist for about a decade. Each year until the Covid-19 pandemic, I’d be at a residency or two for a couple of weeks each year.
After I had a child in 2021, I stopped applying. My partner and I shared as many childcare responsibilities as we could, and I felt that my child needed me as much as possible at such a young age. And because I knew that the time would go by fast since children are only little for so long, I wanted to avoid being away for long periods of time, even though I craved it.
There was one residency where I brought my family. I’d gotten into Crosstown Arts in Memphis for a 2020 residency, pre-baby, and it was, of course, postponed. They started up again in 2022, and thanks to their family accommodation, I was able to go with my family.
That was nice, and I’m so thankful it exists, but it did make me realize that I’d personally much prefer to go by myself.
Now that my child is four, I’m starting to apply again. I just got into MacDowell and I requested dates that take place during the school year. They offer 2-8 weeks, and the longest I can go—like many parents, and in fact, like many people with regular bills and jobs, e.g., most artists—is two weeks.
Anything longer, for not just me, a parent, but again, for many of my fellow artists, would either be impossible, or take some virtuoso planning and life finagling: securing a subletter; making sure there’s still a job waiting for you when you’re back; and for parents, hiring babysitters, or if you’re lucky and have family nearby, getting additional help (if people are available).
Artist talk at Crosstown Arts, 2022. Image description below.
There seems to be a centuries-long allergy with no cure to the idea of artists having some life that coexists with our creativity. The archetypal artist is the lone wolf, set out on a singular path to greatness. Sure, we talk about the need for community and friends, but family? That’s just too bourgeois and traditional.
And as much as I don’t want to, a part of me believes it sometimes. It feels like I had to get the McGenius with a side of Gugg or some shit before I earned the right for this normie part of my life, having a family, to not be a taboo of basicness.
It’s taboo because artists are meant to be convention-fighting rebels…we’re asked the stupid question of how we take risks in our work, which is such a joke of a concept, risk in art, especially in NYC, considering what goes on in the rest of the world.
And this stigma primarily affects women, who, when married, are already seen as someone’s wife, a dependent person; motherhood whiffs of a woman who doesn’t take risks because our images of a mother (“soccer mom,” etc.) are narrow, singular, and monolithic.
Sometimes I wonder if it’s all in my head, these perceptions of how artist mothers are viewed by colleagues. But I know it’s not. Famous women artists have thrown us under the bus with their diatribes about how being a mother would have just gotten in the way (read: Abramović, Emin).
And yes, there have been wildly successful mother artists, but I also wonder if they’re the exceptions to the rule. And this book I’m reading shows examples of famous artist mothers whose personal lives were sort of a mess, so is that also a prerequisite to making a mark?!
Welcome to my rabbit hole.
I could simply make work about motherhood, and I will, but I also want to complain. I come from a culture where we’ve historically put our heads down and worked hard and achieved success that way, but I’m not going to put my head down. It’s popping up at intervals to say, learn how to read an email, right middle finger up, left palm holding my kid’s hand. All before drop-off, because I’ve gotta get to work, motherfucker.
*Yes, clickety-clack is a term I picked up from The Little Red Caboose. CLICKETY-CLACK, BITCHES!!!!
Image descriptions
1) Performing at Marble House Art Seed, 2019. An Asian woman with blonde tips and red lipstick, wearing a black dress, sits on a concrete floor in front of a graphite on paper work that is also on the floor. Her body is rotated towards the camera and her left palm, fingers straight and together, covers her eyes. Behind her audience sits in white chairs.
2) Artist talk at Crosstown Arts: An Asian woman with a ponytail with blond tips speaks at a mic stand on a low wooden stage. She is wearing a voluminous sheer sleeveless pink dress over a sleeveless gingham dress with white, low platform boat shoes. She looks over at a screen that displays two photos: one of herself and another Asian woman (Melinda Taylor) playing melodicas at a ¾ angle, and the second picture of herself playing the sarunay next to a red toy piano.